


he seems equal to a god

by laurenshappenstobemyhusband



Series: Haikyuu!! One Shots [8]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Akaashi is living his best life, Concerts, Drinking, M/M, Making Out, Mosh Pits, kuroo is vibing, probably like early twenties, while bokuto is trying not to die, yay more bad boy akaashi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-22 11:08:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22381954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurenshappenstobemyhusband/pseuds/laurenshappenstobemyhusband
Summary: Bokuto’s mosh pit guardian angel has inky black hair, glitter around his sapphire eyes, and a smile that Bokuto would easily and willingly die for
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Series: Haikyuu!! One Shots [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1555102
Comments: 7
Kudos: 234





	he seems equal to a god

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from sappho 31. And what a mood that whole poem is. Probably gonna write more fics using lines from it as titles because they VIBE

Nobody ever told Bokuto that concerts are _dangerous._

Sure, he’s been to a couple before. One with his parents, maybe one or two in high school with his friends, but all of those concerts had seats. The mosh pit, by contrast, is a lawless hellscape full of people who dance  very  aggressively. Yeah, Bokuto is an energetic guy, but he’s been careful not to elbow anyone in the stomach while he dances, unlike SOME people.

Kuroo’s a dead man if Bokuto ever finds him in this mess.

Someone falls backwards into him and suddenly Bokuto is flat on his ass, surrounded by stomping feet that don’t seem to notice (or care) that he’s beneath them. _Never thought I’d die in a rock concert, but that’s life for you, right? _

Just when he’s beginning to accept his inevitable death, he sees a hand reaching for him from the heavens. He grabs for it, using it to pull himself back to safety.

”Kuroo, bro, I’ll forgive you for bringing me here since you saved me,” he yells over the noise, sighing with relief. “How did you find me through...”

He trails off when he meets the blue eyes of the guy who saved him.  _Kuroo doesn’t have blue eyes. These eyes are blue. This isn’t Kuroo._ He blames the chaos of the mosh pit for how stupidly long it takes him to realize this, and even longer to notice that he’s still holding not-Kuroo’s hand. 

”I’m sorry if you thought I was someone else,” the guy shouts, taking his hand back. “I saw you go down and thought you could use some help.”

Bokuto just stares in awe. The only thing he can think is _angelic_.  His hair is ink black and wavy, and somehow the mosh pit mess that turned Bokuto’s hair into a rat’s nest didn’t seem to affect him at all. Around his blue eyes — dark enough to look black when the lights flicker away — he has a light smattering of glitter, enough that it must be intentional. And the ends of his mouth are curved just slightly into a smile, making Bokuto wonder what he could do to make the smile grow.

But he’s getting ahead of himself, and the angel is staring at him. Probably because he hasn’t spoken in about a minute.

“Thank you!” Bokuto shouts, finally recollecting his senses. “I thought you were my friend at first, but he’s kind of an asshole, so I’m glad you aren’t him.”

Bokuto can’t hear anything lower than a shout, but judging by his expression, the angel found his comment amusing.

“I’m Akaashi Keiji,” he says, cupping his hands around his mouth so he doesn’t have to yell. "Hopefully not an asshole."

“Bokuto Koutarou.” It feels weird to shake hands with someone at a concert, so Bokuto bumps shoulders with him. “I like the sparkles! Did you do them yourself?”

Akaashi narrows his eyes, studying Bokuto’s face. He’s probably trying to figure out if he’s being genuine, but Bokuto’s never been realer in his life.

“My roommate did them for me,” he finally answers. “Not my usual concert attire.”

_ Fancy vocabulary. God that’s hot. _

“Do you go to concerts a lot?” Bokuto asks, taking a moment to shove somebody off his arm. 

“Probably like once every two months. It lets me get all of my college stress out.” 

“This is my first time in a mosh pit,” Bokuto admits, and Akaashi laughs (not that Bokuto can hear it. Man he wishes he could hear it.)

“I can tell,” he shouts, eyes glinting in a most deliciously devious way. “You have to move with the crowd or you’ll be trampled.”

“Wanna show me how?” Akaashi takes Bokuto’s offered hand, pulling him closer. 

“Sure,” he says, right next to his ear. Bokuto’s stomach flips, and he briefly considers never leaving the mosh pit ever. Then someone steps on his toes  _twice_ , and he remembers why he hates the mosh pit again.

There's no real dancing in the mosh pit, just jumping up and down in the little space you have to yourself. Akaashi keeps a grip on Bokuto's hand so they don't drift apart in the ruckus, bobbing his head to the beat. 

"There's always a fight right by the front, so stay clear of there," he says to Bokuto, who nods, wide eyed. It's like stepping into the purge, except all anybody does is shove each other around and jam to loud music.

"How does anybody find this fun?" Bokuto yells, elbowing someone who elbowed him first. Instead of responding, Akaashi takes out a flask. 

"When you're drunk or high, anything loud and crazy is fun," he shouts, taking a swig. He then holds it out to Bokuto. "Want some? It's fireball."

Bokuto accepts the flask from him, careful not to spill any of it in the chaos. He drinks quickly, coughing a little after. Akaashi smirks at his reaction, putting the flask back in his pocket.

"This doesn't seem like your crowd," he says, up close to Bokuto's ear. "What's an innocent guy like you doing in a mosh pit like this?"

Bokuto is instantly defensive. "I'm not innocent!" he shouts, crossing his arms. Big mistake, as this leaves his body defenseless against the onslaught of involuntary attacks around him. "I go out drinking and stuff, just not in concerts much. My friend dragged me here since he had an extra ticket."

"Fair enough," Akaashi acquiesces. Then he gets that devious look in his eyes again, the one that makes Bokuto's stomach flip. "You seem strong enough. Put me on your shoulders, just for a minute or so." 

Bokuto blinks at him, wondering if he heard right. But it isn't every day that a beautiful stranger asked him to pick him up on his shoulders, so after a moment of hesitation, he lifts Akaashi up by the waist, bending down so he can steady himself. He isn't underweight, but slim, and Bokuto is strong enough not to stumble under the sudden weight on his shoulders.

"How's the view up there?" he calls, tilting his head up. In response, Akaashi pulls lightly on the ends of his bleached hair. 

"You make for a comfortable chair," he calls back down, patting his head lightly. "The view up here is great, too."

"Take a video of it for me." Bokuto passes him his phone, and Akaashi records a minute of rowdy crowds and ear-splitting music before passing it back down. "Thank you!"

"No problem," Akaashi answers, swaying a little. "I'm not sober enough to stay up here for much longer. Can you help me down?" 

Bokuto wraps his hands back around Akaashi's waist, pushing him out in front of him. Akaashi keeps a hand on his arm even once he's on solid ground, regaining his balance. His eyes are half-lidded, but the gleam is still visible. 

"Do you work out a lot, Bokuto?" he asks, and _oh,_ he's definitely flirting with him. Bokuto has never been happier that Kuroo is completely unreliable when it comes to sticking around.

"I play volleyball professionally, so I work out a good amount," he says, not trying to be modest. “I’m on Japan’s Olympic team.”

“That’s very impressive,” Akaashi says, and from anyone else it would sound fake but from him Bokuto will believe anything. “I play on my university team as a setter. We’re no Olympic team, but...”

“You’re a setter? That’s awesome!” Bokuto shouts, more out of excitement now than necessity. “I’m a wing spiker! You should totally set to me sometime.”

”What, will you come to my university practices or should I show up to your professional ones?” Akaashi asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I practice with my friends on the weekends, so you should come then!” Bokuto is absolutely certain, without any basis behind it, that Akaashi is a great setter. Maybe it’s his quiet confidence, or the way his long fingers grip Bokuto’s arm that makes it hard for him to think.

”On a scale of one to ten, how much do you love this band?” he asks, gesturing to the stage, and oh right, they’re at a concert. Bokuto finds it hard to focus on anything but the intensity of his gaze.

”Uh, three? They’re more Kuroo’s thing,” he responds.

”About the same here. Do you want to go somewhere quieter?”

Bokuto’s brain goes in many directions at this. A small part of his brain says _I never met this guy before, I probably shouldn’t follow him anywhere._ But the majority of his brain shouts _You know him now, it’s Akaashi! Wherever he wants to go, you follow him._

Akaashi moves his hand down so he's taking Bokuto's hand again, and leads him out of the mosh pit area all the way back to the concession stands. Both of them are sweating from the effort of shoving through, and Akaashi takes another drink from his flask. Bokuto knows better than to say yes when it's offered this time. 

It's light enough that he can get a good look of Akaashi and _damn,_ he wasn't wrong before when he compared him to an angel. His eyes look bluer than ever, and they seem to be doing some staring of their own.

"I thought your hair was a trick of the light," he admits, reaching out to poke one of the bleached spikes. "Do you arrange your hair like this every morning?"

"Yeah, it's my signature style," Bokuto answers, a touch defensively. "Why, do you not like it?"

"It suits you," he says, which isn't really an answer, but he'll take it. 

They sit down at a bar, though neither of them order anything. Instead, they talk. Akaashi talks about his life in university, his major in law, his roommate Kenma. Bokuto talks about his training, his teammates, and anything that comes to his mind. The concert goes on behind them, but it's not of their minds anymore.

Towards the end of Bokuto's epic kegster story - in which he did not one, but two keg flips - Akaashi checks his watch. 

"The concert is almost over," he says, almost apologetically. 

"Aw, really? It barely felt like any time passed at all."

Akaashi bites his lip, twisting his fingers around in his lap. "Are you and Kuroo dating?" he asks, which throws Bokuto off completely.

"No! No we're not. I'm actually really single right now," he says quickly. Not his most eloquent, but he'll blame it on the fireball. 

"Good," Akaashi says, devil smirk reappearing. "So if I kissed you right now, would you mind?"

"Not at all," Bokuto breathes, and that's all Akaashi needs to hear.

They leave the bar first, since Akaashi says it's weird to make out in front of the bartender, and they find a secluded area near the bathrooms.

"I don't make out with every stranger I save in concerts, you know," he says, leaning Bokuto against a wall.

"Good," is all Bokuto can respond, because he can smell cologne on Akaashi's neck and alcohol on his breath and he's never wanted to taste fireball more. 

Akaashi leans in first, since he's the bolder of the two, and puts a hand behind Bokuto's head, tightening his fingers in his hair. Bokuto, in response, wraps an arm around his waist, marveling again at how small it is. 

They aren't in a rush, despite the concert-goers starting to stream past them into the bathroom. While their kiss is intense like a mosh pit, deep and all consuming, it's also slow, drawn out, thought out. Despite his negative comments about Bokuto's hair, Akaashi's hands run through it over and over, turning the spikes into little more than droops. Bokuto isn't paying attention to that, though, since his mind is only focused on the way Akaashi's biting on his lip, hard enough that it's undoubtedly intentional.

"Get a room!" somebody shouts at some point, and Akaashi breaks apart long enough to shout, "Get a life!" before turning back to Bokuto.

"That was hot," Bokuto whispers, chest heaving. "Is it possible to have a yelling kink?"

"Jesus," Akaashi huffs, leaning his head on Bokuto's chest, but Bokuto can feel that he's laughing. 

Then the area is totally clear and Akaashi has to get a cab and Bokuto has to find Kuroo and life has to continue outside of the concert hall. 

"Here's my number," Akaashi says, writing it in big - where did he even get a pen? - on Bokuto's arm. He could just type it in his phone, but he's extra like that. "Call me tomorrow morning, hopefully not hungover, and we'll talk about that volleyball stuff."

"Hungover? I had one sip," Bokuto protests, but stops when Akaashi puts his finger on his lips. 

"Sleep tight, lightweight," he says in a hushed whisper, like it's a secret for just the two of them. He fades into the shadows, his hair blending in with the dark of night, and Bokuto is left with a couple of digits and a shocked expression on his face.

-

"Dude, took you long enough!" Kuroo calls from outside, leaning on a pole. "If you wanna get home before three in the morning then you should hurry up."

Bokuto doesn't know if he's capable of hurrying up on account of the fact that he's walking on clouds, but he makes it to Kuroo somehow. Then he's subjected to a full once over, followed by a gasp.

"You have sex hair! Don't tell me you had sex here in one of these gross concert bathrooms with a stranger-"

"I didn't have sex," Bokuto says, cutting him off. "I just made out with someone. And he's not a stranger, his name is Akaashi Keiji and he's a setter and a law student." He shoves out his arm proudly, displaying the numbers on his bicep.

"You can tell me more about this law student when we're in the car, Bo," Kuroo says, unimpressed. "Also you have glitter on your face."

Bokuto checks in the car mirror and finds that yes, he has a few sparkles smudged around his cheeks. He promptly decides that he's never washing his face again. 

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: laurenshappenstobemyhusband


End file.
